Part 3

three months later...

Part 3:


One clear, sticky summer night, as most of the suburbs relaxed in their air-conditioned homes, I sat on a couch with a thick upholstery, every so often squirming in an attempt to increase the distance between my own arms and legs and those of my friends on either side of me. The thick-pile carpet beneath my sandaled feet did little to decrease the temperature of the room, which, from pre-teen and teenage boy sweat, was becoming sultry.
Despite the oppressive atmosphere, a small woman sat quietly across the room from me, attentive to the introduction of my pastor and youth leader. Her white hair was unpretentious and practical. She wore her summer dress with its mandarin collar and floral pattern. But she fascinated me immediately; I knew she had been a missionary to Japan for many years.
As she told the story of her journey from youth to old age, from girl to grandma, her speech was unadorned, almost distant. Repeated in her story, however, was a simple phrase that she took from I Corinthians 6. She discussed her own calling to the mission field, and the realization that she must follow wherever God may lead:
I am not my own. I am bought with a price.
Immediately I was still. I felt as if someone had reached inside me, grabbed my heart, and squeezed. I felt those words call me, as they had called her, to missions, to the work of the Gospel in a foreign land.
I am not my own.
In the silence of my own heart, that phrase reverberates. It’s hard to hear when I am moving. The business of my life drowns out the echo; the conversations of practicality and everydayness dominate, clamoring for my attention and claiming importance. But the words remain, and while circumstances have led me to stay in the States for the time being, her words still remind me of my identity. They remind me of Christ’s precious blood shed for me, and of my dependence on him for my very breath.

* * * * * * *

The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly on my left side through the classroom windows, making me drowsy after a filling lunch of pizza and pop. My teacher’s voice felt like the sun; relentless and tranquilizing.
“Laura? What theorem do we use for the first proof?”
I came back to earth with a jolt and stared at my teacher blankly. Quickly I tried to find the proof we were on.
“Laura?”
I was dumb and mute, and I failed to respond. The heads of my classmates craned forward to see my face, to figure out why I wasn’t responding. She always knows the answer, they were thinking.
“Theorem 5.1,” I muttered finally, in a desperate attempt to get the eyes of the class off of my back.
“Hmm.” The teacher smiled. “Nope, it’s 6.1,” she looked cheerfully down at me. “You see, class, Laura really isn’t that smart.”
The class laughed, and I, in another attempt to blend in, laughed as well. She had said it with such a complete lack of spite or meanness that there was nothing else for me to do. I laughed again after class when I shared the story with the girls whose lockers were next to mine, and again at dinner when I related the story to my family.
Laura really isn’t that smart.
It’s okay if you laugh; it really is ridiculous. It’s one of those moments that hopeful teachers like myself pray every day to avoid, and gasp in shock when they hear that a teacher has actually said something so demeaning to a student. I can’t say my life has been scarred forever because of those words, and I’m sure that teacher will be happy to know that. I can say, though, that those words echo back every so often, causing me to share the story with fellow educators, who are sure to laugh and express dismay. I like making people smile.
But despite how many times I’ve shared the story, my heart continues to pinch a little. And I’m reminded of the resonating power of words, especially ones spoken without thought.

* * * * * * *

With this ring, I thee wed.
Staring at the paper in front of me, I felt incapable of making any decisions at the moment, least of all one of such importance as wedding vows. My pastor had given Ryan and me a sample of traditional and more modern vows. The small voice said inside me, you’re an English major, dummy. Shouldn’t you be able to put together something beautiful and poetic that captures the moment forever? Yet I felt completely inadequate and unable to face the task. Not to mention the time factor; when would I find time to pour into wedding vows when I felt as if my classes were an avalanche, simply waiting for my sneeze before they poured down the mountain, crushing me beneath their weight?
As usual when unable to make a decision, I picked up the phone.
“What are we going to do?” I moaned.
“Why wouldn’t we just use the traditional vows?” Ryan asked, as if there were no issue at all.
“Don’t you want our vows to be unique? To stand out? I don’t want the same old same old.”
“Uh, no.”
Of course not. Always ready to be new and innovative, Ryan would revert to tradition on such a significant event in our lives.
Thankfully, I had a fiancé (and now, a husband) who not only was able to make a decision, but also was able to recognize the value of tradition. The repetition of words often cause them to loose their meaning. How many times have I said “I’m sorry,” with each new utterance bringing me closer to not being sorry than before? That danger occurs with ceremonial words, as well. But while these words can slam the door on all imagination and hope, they can also open it to life and possibility. There is something sacred about ceremonial words, about uttering with my husband the phrases that I had heard from the time I was a little girl – almost sacrilegiously, such as the incompetent priest in The Princess Bride, and reverently, such as the clergyman in Pride and Prejudice. The act of repeating together words that had been uttered for hundreds and hundreds of years, by men and women of many shapes, sizes, ages, geographic and cultural backgrounds, only increased for me the intensely communal act that taking my marriage vows was. With those words, I not only joined myself to one man for the rest of my life, but also to a community of men and women who had gone before me, who had walked the path of marriage, taking up its burdens and joys, ending both faithfully and unfaithfully. With those words, I made a promise that must resonate with me as long as I still draw breath, for it is not only within my own heart that it was spoken, but also within the hearts of the hundred and eighty people who gave their assent to our marriage.
As long as we both shall live.

* * * * * * *

"Echoes," pt. 2

Here's part two...you'll have to wait a week for part three -- I'm going on a canoe trip to Minnesota!

At eleven years old my world was rocked like the carefully balanced tray carried by a server. I had meticulously placed each platter and drink, each friend and family member, on my tray, and now I was knocked off-balance. I struggled frantically to grasp at the sliding dishes, but with no success. My diligence had come to naught; I was left empty-handed and embarrassed.
Hugging myself in the brisk fall air, I stood outside our new home in Pittsburgh, 400 miles away from Baltimore. 400 miles away from Nan. Away from Shelby, my best friend and confidante.
Goodbye.
I looked at the old, brown shutters and compared them to the freshly painted black ones of my old house. The huge pine tree in front of the townhouse covered up the big window on the first floor and almost the entire half of the house. Cold and hostile, it seemed to echo the fact of its rental nature: not a home where the floorboards are worn out with your regular steps or the wall of the bedroom dented where you continually slammed open your door year after year. Here, I was a guest.
At thirteen, I had regained some of my lost confidence – Nan, though far away, still poured out her grandma-love to me and I wrote letters to her every week. She came to visit each summer, bringing Shelby with her. It was my favorite week of the year. Nan would bring peach buns and crabmeat; Shelby and I would climb under the covers of the same double bed to whisper secrets and dreams, and, for a brief moment, I could almost imagine that everything was the way it always was, that I had a place to belong.
Goodbye!
Again, my Nan and Shelby would get in Nan’s car and return home to Baltimore. After a couple of summers, though, Shelby wouldn’t come back when Nan did.
Goodbye!
I have said this word often in my short life, and each time it feels excruciating. Each time it feels as if my tray has been knocked over, just after I’ve finally picked up the pieces. This simple phrase contains the word “good,” and yet nothing about saying it seems good. It seems only to bring heartache and loneliness and desire for a time, a place that was, but is no more.

"Echoes", pt 1

I just finished a piece for my Creative Non-fiction class. I'll share it with you all, but I'll do it in installments, like Charles Dickens :-) I think it works well for that, as I have the piece divided into sections that are linked by theme, not as a narrative. The temporary title is "Echoes" -- I'm not sure if I want to keep it.
Enjoy!

p.s. for those of you who read my "Weight of Words" essay, this part won't be new -- I stole the first section of it for this piece -- but it is a little different! so read on :-)


In the beginning was the word!
Arms lifted, eyebrows raised, Dr. Paul Kilpatrick gestured emphatically from the front of the classroom at 8 a.m. It was too early for most of us, having just crawled out from our blankets and used what energy there was to climb three flights to our classroom. Yet the words of the apostle John jumped from Dr. Kilpatrick’s lips as he laid the foundation for Linguistics 201.
With his token brightly-colored shirt rolled up at the cuffs, denim jeans, and cowboy boots, Dr. Kilpatrick paced the front of the room. He stroked his goatee as he continued his lesson, attempting to reveal to us the mystery of language, its beginnings and its diversity.
Most of us were barely conscious, barely aware of the life-giving words he was offering us. Thankfully, the words didn’t stay in that room, but remained with me, shaping the way I think about words, and, in particular, writing.
Words are able to resonate within my soul, to continue speaking long after the speaker ceases. They repeat themselves back to me, like a shout into a cavern, echoing faintly, yet clear and distinct. Words can shake the walls of my soul, and my soul both absorbs them and speaks them back.
In the best of moments, the words that echo back bring life and peace. Mirroring the words of God in the creation of the world, words can create a world of beauty in the soul. Words bring life primarily because they are relational; they bring opposites into communion. Christ, as the Divine Word, is the ultimate example of this restoration. He brings my sinful self into communion with the holy Father, with others, and with myself. Words, of course, cannot throw a shadow onto the magnificence of Christ's work of reconciliation. But they are, nonetheless, a shadow of that work and are able to mimic it.
Words bring me into communion with God. With words he calls me to himself, sending his Spirit to shatter my heart of stone. He gives words so I may praise him in joy; he gives words so I may cry to him in anguish. With words he writes his law on my heart and my name in his Book of Life. He bridges the gap between heaven and earth with words that are sharper than a two-edged sword; able to divide soul and spirit, bone and marrow; and able to breathe life into my dead heart.
Words bring us into communion with others. With words we speak love and peace. Words can heal and bind up, create intimacy and harmony. They are the means by which we connect our lives with others, bringing wholeness. And the written word takes this even further, creating a link between two worlds, two times, bringing refreshment and enlightenment to the thirsty. “You build a world in what you say,” says Diane Glancy. “Words—as I speak or write them—make a path on which I walk.”

Identity Crisis

"...a good argument can be made that true, authentic selves are made more than found. It is arguably as much or more by making and keeping promises than by dabbling and deferring that we come to know who we as persons really are and are called to become."

I read this today in a Books & Culture article called "Getting a Life: the challenge of emerging adulthood" by Christian Smith.

The article discussed a new stage of life in American culture which has been dubbed "emerging adulthood." As a member of this stage (being between 18 and 30 years), I found the article interesting and thought-provoking. It describes several characteristics of this new stage of life, including identity exploration, focus on self, and a delay of marriage and long-term careers.

Smith argues that much of emerging adulthood does little to prepare for actual adulthood; instead, it tends to promote self-indulgence and narcissism. The issue of morality in relationships for emerging adults is especially fluid.

This is where the above quote comes in. Smith criticizes the emerging adulthood attitude that does not understand the relationship between commitment and identity formation. This was interesting to me in light of frequent discussions that I have been a part of at Geneva. The argument is often made that before you can commit to a relationship, settle down and get married, you must know who you are. You must have your identity figured out before you can add someone to your life.

I think that this must be an erroneous argument. First of all it denies that identity is a fluid and continually changing idea. There are some things that are constant: once a Christian, you are always a child of God. You cannot change your gender, birth date, or ethnicity. But who you are in terms of relationships is always changing. I went from being an only child to being the oldest of four. I am now a wife. Someday I hope to be a mother and a grandmother. This leads to the second error: this argument denies that other people - in particular, a significant other - influence and shape who we are and who we will become. After you have figured out what you want out of life, where you want to be in 10, 20, 50 years, what you are most passionate about, then you can begin to look for someone to share that with. Of course, there is some truth to this: good marriages often work because the people in them are like-minded. But to say that at some point in our early twenties or thirties we will discover who we truly are and will be for the rest of our lives – and that who we marry will not influence that person – doesn’t work.

“…authentic selves are made more than found…”

And they are made in a community of people. They are shaped by our family, our environment, our beliefs.

“It is arguably as much or more by making and keeping promises than by dabbling and deferring that we come to know who we as persons really are and are called to become."

Commitment to a community is necessary to identity. We are made in God’s image, and part of that involves communion with others – not a disconnected, drifting lifestyle that refuses to take responsibility for oneself and for others. Marriage is one type of committed communion that aids identity discovery and formation. Family and church bodies can be others.

Wherever we are, communities are vital to shaping not only who we are in the workplace, at school, and in public, but also we are in Christ. Other people provide a mirror to which we are held up, revealing all our filthiness and sin. Other people also provide a beautiful picture of the love and grace of God. We cannot live without them.

end of summer

So. JCP is getting a little bit dull; I'm not surprised though - I can imagine that most min. wage jobs are like that. One more day, and I'll be done!

Just finished reading The Violent Bear it Away by Flannery O'Connor. It's the next book for book club - and I'm the lucky discussion leader. Wish I had a better grasp on what she's about; when I've read her before I leave impressed and mostly confused. I have some help, though, with lit crit, so at least we'll have an interesting discussion.

Now I'm in the middle of Reading like a Writer
It's pretty sweet -- the author focuses on different aspects of writing fiction, such as words, sentences, narration, character, plot, etc. Although I'm pretty sure I don't have it in me to ever write fiction, it will hopefully help me (at least) become a better reader and (hopefully) apply some of the more general principles to writing my own creative non-fiction. What I like is how she constantly uses excerpts from famous, excellent writers to show her point, and how she doesn't establish fixed rules. She never says, "this is the best way to write." She emphasizes purpose and individuality in determining style.


This time next week we'll be in our new apartment -- w00t! It's been wonderful living at the Prichard's this summer, but I can't wait for us to have our own apartment :-) We have the most beautiful windows at the front of our house. Still new appliances and furniture, though...

New things

With my decision to post more often than every 4 months, I also decided that my blog needed a face-lift. Voila. A new template.

Also new is my job at JCPeney's. Greenwood Park Mall. Come buy shoes from me and support my family :-) It should be fun: yesterday was my first day on the floor, and several old ladies called me a "sweet little sales girl."

To go with my new job, I got a new pair of dress pants. A medium-brown color with pinstripes from Target. Pretty spiffy if you ask me.

Another new thing: Monday night Ryan and I made shrimp alfredo with pasta and roasted roma tomatoes. The Shrimp alfredo isn't new; that's one of our favorite meals. However, I chopped up some spinach and sauteed it with garlic to add to the alfredo sauce. MMmmmmm. The tomatoes were really good too: basil and garlic with parm cheese. Next time I'll try to give it a little more flavor.

Day 19 of wedlock

Just finished Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. My first longer-than-a-speech exposure to Vonnegut - I've only read his "Fates worse than death" speech before. Not sure quite what to think about it, how to respond, etc. I read it as part of SSRPC's book club - we're meeting tonight to discuss it. Hopefully the other women will be able to shed some light on my fuzzy understanding.

Next in line: Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. I LOVED Hurston when we read her in Am Lit III - so peppy, funny, and confident. Her writing has blown me away in just the first couple chapters.

Re-read/close reading: The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis. I'm leading the high school/college girl's book study at SSRPC this summer. Yesterday was our first meeting, but the books weren't in so we just discussed love in our culture and in Scripture (with the help of a weird-almost-funny-but-a-bit-true article i found on the web ). I've been looking for a study guide, but can't find one. Usually study guides aren't all that helpful, as they contain knowledge-level, close-ended questions, but I can't even find a bad one. Maybe once I'm done this study I can publish the first-ever study guide on this book :-)

In other news, I put up some wedding pictures on Facebook (a few out of over 800).

engaged!

I think the only time I post on this is when I'm in Fairland. Perhaps that's the only time I really have the time to relax and think about what to say...

although, it's not hard to decide what to write about today. :-) Ryan and I are engaged!

Wrestling with justice

I am again in Fairland, which is lovely :-)

Right now I am reading in Job for my devotions, and I really like it, although sometimes it gets confusing -- Job's friends are not helpful or comforting, I know, but I still feel like some of the things they say are true...

It is really interesting to read in light of what I've been thinking about recently -- justice. My roommate read a book recently called Disposable People, about slavery that takes place today, in places like NY and LA. :-/ rather depressing. Add, on top of that, studying the Holocaust, displaced persons, and genocide in Humanities 303, oh, and then feelings of complete helplessness when it comes to the world's problems, and you have the perfect ingredients for depression.

So, I have been asking God to show me what my role is now. As Christians, we are called to bring justice and compassion and freedom to the oppressed. I'm just trying to figure out what that should look like in my life as a junior at Geneva College in Beaver Falls, PA.

The main thing, though, that God has reinforced through this is that he is in control, and he loves justice. And though he doesn't promise his people that they will never face injustice, he does promise them the grace to stand through it. And one day, when he comes to judge the living and the dead, the wicked will be destroyed and the righteous in Christ will be glorified. That is my comfort.

20

Today I am 20 years old.

I have lived one-fifth of a century.

That's a long time.

But I still feel really small.

tagged

I have been tagged! It's been awhile since Alicia tagged me, but I now have plenty of time to respond :-)

1. One book that changed your life: The Pleasures of God by John Piper
2. One book that you’ve read more than once: Stepping Heavenward by Elizabeth Prentiss
3. One book you’d want on a desert island: The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment by Jeremiah Burroughs...seems like it'd be helpful in a situation like that, plus I need to read it again someday...
4. One book that made you laugh: Uh hmm. Can I pick a book that's going to make me laugh...I just haven't read it yet? Eats Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss. As soon as Bekah returns it to the library, I will get it out :-)
5. One book that made you cry: pretty much every sort-of sentimental book in the world makes me cry...but to be specific, Seven Daughters and Seven Sons by Barbara Cohen
6. One book that you wish had been written: How to Not Want To Do Everything in the World and Still Be Happy.
7. One book that you wish had never been written: Walden by Thoreau
8. One book you’re currently reading: Assignment in Brittany by Helen McInnes
9. One book you’ve been meaning to read: Something by Salmon Rushdie...either The Satanic Verses or Shalimar the Clown.
10. Now tag five people: Tricia, Heather, Ryan...uh. who else reads my blog? :-P

Update from France!

Greetings from France!

We are in our second week here, and things are going well. At the beginning there were 8 of us; 7 from the States and 1 girl from Ireland. Last Saturday another girl from Ireland joined us to make 9.

Our schedule has been the same pretty much every day; in the morning we distribute Réflexions, the pamphlet that the church puts together. After lunch we go door to door in the neighborhood where we have the kids' club in order to invite kids to club and possibly have conversations with people as well. We have all had good conversations with several people, but it is difficult because they like to tell you all about what they believe and not listen to what you have to say and not give direct answers to your questions. After door-to-door, we have the kids' clubs for an hour. We are divided into two groups since there are so many of us and running two clubs at the same time. Last week my group ran a club in a mainly Muslim nieghborhood. While one boy came almost every day, they were clearly not happy to have us there.

This week's club started off much better. There were over 5 little girls who came and listened well and had a lot of fun. Today, however, they were playing outside when we came but weren't allowed to come because they had been talking about God and what they had learned and their dads weren't happy.

If any of you follow football, you will know that France is in the World Cup Finals! Last night we got to go to downtown Nantes and watch it on the big screen with thousands of people. It was very exciting to be there.

Thank you all so much for your prayers. We have been learning much about God's faithfulness to His people and how He answers prayer during our trip.

In Christ,
Laura

Soylent Green

I just watched a movie with Ryan and Mrs. C --- Soylent Green. An old sci-fi with Charlton Heston...quite weird. In the year 2022, the world has run out of natural resources, eats "food" called Soylent, rations water, practices euthanasia, and is overpopulated. Women are also extremely oppressed. The movie doesn't end how I expected (it's unresolved) and I wouldn't put it on my top 100 list. Worth the hour and however-many-minutes of my time? Probably not. I'm going to go back to my Salmon Rushdie book for tonight.

Fairland News

these nice pictures are from the lovely town of Fairland, IN., where I'm at for the summer :-) it's pretty much awesome.
Population: approximately 1,348. (although, that includes all the farms surrounding downtown Fairland)
upcoming events: Fairland Fire Run, Saturday June 17. w00t!

we (the Cerbus children and I) bought Mrs. Cerbus a cool winerack for her birthday. It's very classy :-D

gwendolyn brooks

today i am thankful for....

...discovering new poets.


Gwendolyn Brooks.


"Kitchenette Building"

We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. "Dream" mate, a giddy sound, not strong
Like "rent", "feeding a wife", "satisfying a man".

But could a dream sent up through onion fumes
Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday's garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms,

Even if we were willing to let it in,
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean,
Anticipate a message, let it begin?

We wonder. But not well! not for a minute!
Since Number Five is out of the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.

teaching

I taught my first lesson ever today!! metaphors and similes to 9th graders at Beaver Falls HS! w00t!

I'm so thankful for how it went - - and I'm really excited about teaching! I wasn't nervous at all once I got up there, and I had so much fun :-)

The Fall

so Bangor and Allison Perry and I went to Eat 'n' Park last night real quick, and on the way back they brought up a question that they were debating in HUM 303: to what extent has the Fall affected man's abilities?

At first I was really quick to draw the line, and said that obviously things like being lame, or blind, are part of the Fall.

But what about skills? such as math, writing, athletic, music abilities? Are we all supposed to be perfectly good at them? Or is there a certain limit to our abilities, and even in Heaven we won't be totally perfect at them?

So then I thought, uh, does it really matter what exactly I think? Well, I'm going to be a teacher. And so if I believe that everyone should be able to write perfectly, but they don't because of the Fall, I am going to strive as hard as I can to propel students to perfection (recognizing, of course, that they won't get there in this life). If I believe that students aren't necessarily gifted in writing, and so will NEVER be able to write perfectly, I will work around it more, and accommodate their weaknesses.

I hope this makes sense...I'd appreciate your thoughts!

blast from the past

So I got an email this morning with a fun picture of my dad in it....thought I'd show you all what he looked like in the 80's :-P At first I didn't recognize him -- so much hair, and a beard!! (sorry, dad). but he does look quite handsome, don't you think? :-D

tithe

Protestants gave more of their income to churches in the Great Depression than they do today.

---> what does that say about where our treasure is?

"Why don't people ask us about our hope? The answer is probably that we look as if we hope in the same things they do. Our lives don't look like they are on the Calvary road, stripped down for sacrificial love, serving others with the sweet assurance that we don't need to be rewarded in this life. Our reward is in heaven (Matthew 5:12)!... If we believed this more deeply, others might see the worth of God and find in Him their gladness"
~John Piper, Don't Waste Your Life

2nd Floor

this blog post is simply to say that I LOVE my 2nd floor NS McKee girls. you are all amazing and awesome...for all the talks, singing, homestar runner fun, meals, screaming at the honors program, threatening to quit school, and ridiculous quotations.... thank you.

:-)